


Twenty-Five Years

by Dulcinea



Category: Metallica
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 19:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dulcinea/pseuds/Dulcinea
Summary: "Fun. Celebrating. That’s what I think weddings are supposed to be, you know?"





	Twenty-Five Years

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written these guys in a long time, but it was nice to try again.
> 
> Written as a gift for JessyUlrich, as part of 2017's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Lars Ulrich, James Hetfield (Metallica): Marriage Proposal.'

**1985**

“I’m not going.”

James’s sister Deanne sighed over the phone. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“We have to finish working on our new album. There’s no way I can make the wedding with all this work we’re doing.”

“It’s Chris’s fucking wedding, James. Our own brother’s wedding.”

“And that’s exactly why.”

“Goddamn it, will you grow up already?”

He answered that question by hanging up the phone. 

Taking personal phone calls in the “Metallimansion” usually meant no privacy at all 90% of the time. This was one of the rare times where no one was in the house, because James made sure of it. Kirk fucked off with Claypool. Cliff was at his grandma’s place. And Lars was off getting high or getting liquor or…

Or staring him right in the face apparently as he entered the kitchen. “Who was that?” he asked.

“None of your business.” 

“Didn’t sound great.”

James dove right for the fridge, taking out a six pack of Coors and ripping off one from the plastic. With a pop of the tab, he swung his neck back and downed the whole can in one go. 

The second he finished, Lars said, “Someone’s getting married.”

He sent a death glare right at him.

Lars didn’t seem phased one bit. “Who is it?”

James stalked out of the room with the rest of the six pack. 

As he entered the mutual bedroom he and Lars shared, he heard behind him, “Is it someone we know? Someone from your family?”

“Fuck off.”

“I heard the whole conversation.”

“Obviously.” He kicked the door with his foot—

Lars’s hand grabbed the edge and swung it open. “Will you answer my fucking question?!”

James flopped onto his own twin mattress, cracking open another Coors. 

“Of course you won’t.” Lars flopped down next to him. Both their backs pressed against the wall. “If it’s any consolation, I hate weddings too.”

“Hn.”

“They’re boring and stuffy and you wear an uncomfortable suit all day… food is usually good though. And is there going to be an open bar? You can’t go wrong with an open bar.” Lars grabbed a Coors from James’s pack. James’s second death glare proved useless against him. “I mean, if I was going to get married, that’s what I’d have. Open bar, friends and immediately family that didn’t piss me off, small ceremony, fast, simple, to the point. No drama, no fucking problems, none of that shit. Just... fun. Celebrating. That’s what I think weddings are supposed to be, you know?” He crushed the can and threw it to the opposite end of the room. “Celebrating shit, getting hammered, telling stories and having fun. That’s what I’d do, because that’s what it should be. Hell, if it was legal, that’s what WE would have if I could marry y—” He choked on his next word, eyes bugged out, wide open. 

James stared right at him, untouched third Coors can in hand.

Lars slowly closed his mouth. A bright pink blush rose on his pale cheekbones. 

The suffocating silence unnerved James. 

In the small amount of years he knew Lars, he could count maybe three moments when the guy fell this deadly quiet. Each time, it dealt with Lars’s mom or dad laying down the hammer on something Lars did. As wild and loose as James perceived them to be, they could be strict too – moments he identified with and appreciated considering how spoiled rotten Lars acted sometimes. 

But this was different. This was new, and weird, and… 

James felt the corner of his lips curve up.

Hilarious. 

He took a sip of his beer, which seemed to knock Lars out of his reverie, because the man jumbled out an excuse – something mixed with English and Danish – and ran out of the room, with the rest of the Coors pack with him. 

James just sat there, laying against the wall, as a chuckle bubbled out of his throat, causing him to choke a little on his beer. 

For a few minutes, James enjoyed the silence, the awkward moment that passed between them. 

And the words Lars said. What he almost let out. 

James swirled the can in his hand. 

_Lars wants to marry me, huh._

He took a sip and then let out a huge laugh. 

 

**1991**

“OK, I’m done.” Lars threw his drumstucks in the air. 

Bob said, “We’re not—”

“I am. Got it?” He yanked his headband off his head, then the headphones. “See you fucks tomorrow.” Then stormed out of the room. 

From where Kirk sat adjacent to James, he shook his head and sighed. 

James side-eyed him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“ _What?_ ”

Kirk took off his guitar, placing it on its holder. 

“He’s just having his usual hissy fit,” James said. “He’ll calm down and we’ll keep recording.”

“That’s not it and you know it.”

“Huh?”

Kirk shot him a glare as he left the room. “Think about what you said. That’s all.” He motioned over at Jason. “Come on, let’s go get some drinks.”

James watched the two of them go. From beyond the glass, Bob hung his head in his hands, while Randy rubbed the space between his eyebrows with his fingers. 

He shrugged and focused on playing a few more times, write a few more lyrics, jot down a few more ideas.

Time passed. When he looked up at the clock, almost forty minutes had passed, and from what he saw, no one was on the other side of the plexiglass anymore.

Not even Lars.

He frowned.

Usually after a fight – albeit even a petty one like whatever this one was tonight – Lars spent the time brooding in the room, bitching to Bob over something, or to Randy. Or he went into the kitchen to throw some darts, but then immediately came back right after. They’d recuperate with music. Getting over the fight and channeling the aggression into the music. But now…

James took off his guitar. 

_Think about what you said._

He frowned as he remembered his exact words. 

_Bob, Lars and I will never be THAT close. You kidding? I don’t need him as much as he needs me. Trust me when I say I know._

And he laughed.

Like an idiot, he laughed.

And when he looked over at Lars, he didn’t see him laughing too. 

There were a few spots in Los Angeles Lars could’ve gone to when he was pissed. A few strip clubs, a few bars, a few old haunts they frequented when they used to live in this area. Considering how pissed Lars was after that fight, James went to the simplest, easiest spot he could possibly find him: right in his own motel room. 

A few knocks on the door and he proved himself right. “The fuck do you want?” 

James held up a six pack of Budweiser in his hand. He opened his mouth—and froze.

Bloodshot eyes. Red face. Wetness underneath the nostrils and down the sides of his scruffed jawline. 

The pause was enough time for Lars to answer him with a door slam.

James knocked the door again. 

And again.

Again.

The fourth knock turned into door pounds with his fist. “Lars! Open up!” He pounded harder. “Lars—!” 

The door flung open. “You don’t know when to get the fucking hint, do you, Hetfield?” He took one step outside of his room, shoving his face up towards James’s. “You’ve done enough damage for tonight. I’ll be fine tomorrow. But right now? Do me a favor and FUCK OFF.”

Door slam again.

James pounded the door even harder. His fist smarted and stung. 

From beyond the wood, he heard Lars scream, “I TOLD YOU TO FUCK OFF!”

“Let me in!”

No answer.

He banged on the wood with his hardest punch yet. The door rattled. “LARS!” 

Nothing.

The door rattled once more. “LARS! _LARS!_ ”

Suffocating silence. Eerily familiar silence. But this time, he was not laughing. 

James pressed his forehead against the wood. The case of beer landed next to him, against his feet. He strained to hear what was going on inside, what Lars was doing, _anything._ But there was nothing. 

He mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ as he moved away.

Things seemed fine the next day. Lars and he worked together. They recorded. They jammed. They hung out and ate and joked and laughed and argued and recorded some more. But James saw for the first time something he didn’t like: Lars distancing himself away. And he didn’t understand why it bugged him. 

 

**1997**

For the first time, James admitted to himself that Lars looked good.

There were many times in the past that yes, Lars looked very good. Enough to pounce the man and fuck him over the years. But he didn’t admit it to himself. He excused them as dumb thoughts only because he knew what Lars’s feelings were towards him, even now. 

It made sense to think Lars looked good because he knew Lars liked him enough to want to _marry_ him, and so his fucked up brain thought, _Oh, ok, someone likes me, I should see if I like something about that person back._ So, sometimes, Lars looked good. Dumb, irrelevant, useless thoughts. 

Over the years, James grew used to the familiarity of Lars’s obvious feelings and his own dumb thoughts. Lars curling up to him. Lars getting him food. Lars taking care of him after each accident, especially Montreal. Lars checking up on him or hanging out with him or going to lunches or dinners with him or spending the night with him even though they owned their own respective homes now. 

It was normal. It was easy. 

Now it was changing, and James hated it.

Lately, Lars’s straightforward feelings seemed to be murkier than they were in the past. Much more distant, like a time gone by. A time James couldn’t claim anymore, because he missed his opportunities to reciprocate in some way. 

He wasn’t _about_ to propose – even now, James laughed at the thought – but he could’ve done something to assure Lars he understood his feelings. He got what Lars meant by marriage. Not the actual _I’m going to marry you_ but the sentiment, the thought, the feelings. 

But now Lars was wandering off. He looked elsewhere, hung out with other people, gained different interests that drifted the two of them further apart. 

Lars wasn’t the Lars that James remembered or knew anymore. 

At first, he rather liked the idea of Lars no longer hanging onto him like an unrequited lover. He felt free in a way. He didn’t feel obligated to watch Lars’s emotions because Lars had clearly moved on. 

And then he saw how Lars looked. How he changed physically, emotionally. The people he hung out with. The way he acted. Kissing Kirk, kissing other men and women. Flaunting himself around like a whore – a clear way to rile him up. It only served to rile up Jason, not himself, because he knew Lars too damn well. 

It wasn’t until he saw Lars backstage giving someone that look – _that look_ that was meant for _him_ and _him alone_ – that James changed.

He was jealous. Actually jealous, and pissed off. 

James mulled over the feelings for a month, wondering where it all came from, why he felt this way, until he deduced the source of it all: the security of having Lars’s feelings, affections and attention for himself. 

Lars loved him, and him alone. He could be with anyone, but he only loved James. Loved him enough to want to marry him, like he slipped out all those years ago.

And now that was changing, rapidly. Maybe it was even gone. 

He had no choice. He had to do something drastic. Something meaningful, easy, to the point, and fast. 

Something that would make Lars his to a point. Just enough for Lars to get it. Enough to keep Lars’s love for himself, and himself alone, for good.

James smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey there.” Lars sat across from him, his white long sleeve cotton almost shining in the candlelight. “Been waiting long?”

“Not at all. I ordered us some red wine.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed the menu in front of him. “I don’t know about you but I’m fucking starving.”

James chuckled. He fingered the bracelet in his pocket as he took in how Lars looked. His eyeliner wasn’t too heavy. The gold earrings twinkled a little. He seemed to wear chapstick, not that silly lipgloss he fancied lately, and his hair looked nice slicked back the way it did. 

He drifted his gaze down to his bare left wrist and clutched his fingers around the diamond and gold piece of jewelry. 

It was low key. It didn’t mean anything too much. Nothing to read too much into. A simple gold band with small, round diamonds. Innocent. Straightforward. James picked it right from the case at the local Kohl’s because Tiffany’s and Macy’s felt too much, and placing it in a black box felt like overkill. But the bracelet itself seemed right. It felt right. It’d look nice on Lars’s wrist, match many of his outfits. It wouldn’t stand out. It wouldn’t be obvious at all. 

This little thing would help their relationship. It would mean something to Lars, something that would keep him close, keep him from drifting further away and repair what was damaged between them. But the placement. The area he’d clasp the bracelet around. Lars would get it. He’d understand damn well. 

And with the way Lars looked tonight, the bracelet would match his outfit perfectly. 

They ate mostly in silence. A nice, comfortable silence. James smiled around the rim of his wine glass each time he took a sip. 

Any time there wasn’t silence, Lars broke it. He chatted about family. The latest films he saw. Another British indie band. And James listened. Watched. Waited.

No one would see. They sat in the very, very far back of the restaurant, away from prying eyes. No one in a close vicinity of them. In shadows, save for the candlelight. 

He gripped the bracelet hard when Lars finished his meal.

“Hey Lars?”

“Yeah?” 

James said, “I have something for you,” as he dug out the bracelet and showed it to him, underneath the table.

Lars smirked. He looked down—and the smirk disappeared. His eyes bugged out. His jaw fell slack. Just like they did in ’85. 

He watched Lars’s lips gape like a fish, trying to form words. But when his head slightly shook no, James’s heart sunk a little. 

Before Lars uttered a single word, James eyed Lars’s left wrist, snatched it up in his hands and slapped the bracelet on him. 

A small hitch accompanied Lars’s next breath when, for good measure, James dropped to a knee beside the table and secured the bracelet’s clasp.

When James sat back down in his chair, he looked dead straight into Lars’s glossed over eyes and said, “I lied back then when I said I didn’t need you.” He grabbed Lars’s left hand in his. “I do.”

Lars’s watery smile eased away the last of James’s worries, and they died for good when Lars said, “Damn right you do.”

They squeezed their hands together for a long moment before they let go, Lars’s fingers lingering on James’s.

 

**2002**

“FUUUUUUUUUCK!”

James clenched his fist hard enough to turn his knuckles white as Lars stalked away from him, heading back to the end of the table. The cameras in the corners followed Lars’s every move.

He closed his eyes. Inhaled a deep breath. Held it. 

On his exhale, he unclenched his fist and raised both of his hands to his clammy face, removing the glasses to rub at his suddenly tired, wet eyes. 

_I deserve that. I deserve everything._

He took a brave step when he admitted aloud that if it had been anyone else in his face than Lars, he would’ve decked them. Lars laughed at that. 

As Phil lead their therapy discussion to a close, James soaked in what he could read off Lars. The main thing he found matched his own feelings. 

Tired. So goddamn tired. 

When it was all over, Lars bailed out of HQ before James could catch him. In a way, he was glad for it. Now wasn’t the right time to talk. Not after what they just said. They were both in a fragile state. He was mindful enough now to recognize that. 

Still. He wanted this to stop. He wanted to tell Lars the truth. Tell him everything. Tell him what he was thinking, what he meant, what he truly wanted and was scared about and…

James shook his head. 

Back home in San Rafael, he continued doing what his AA brothers encouraged him to do: remove everything of the past that no longer served him. Not just the bottles of alcohol and the prescription pills and the escort hotlines and porn websites and whatnot. More than that. Clothing. Furniture. Anything that didn’t help his journey to recovery and his ultimate want of becoming a more wholesome, better man. 

With the living room, kitchen and his personal studio cleared of those items, James focused on his office that evening. Menial things popped up here and there. Things that didn’t harm nor help. Just trinkets and papers, a few tour guides and hotel bills, easy to throw away. 

Almost an hour into cleaning, something shiny caught his eye at the bottom corner, behind his bookcase. 

He pushed some pamphlets, novels and tab books to the side, blowing away cobwebs and dust as he followed the source.

James gasped when he finally uncovered it. 

The last thing James expected to find stared him right in the face. 

He thought it lost, gone forever, possibly thrown in the trash or destroyed in his own drunken haze after the deserved blow up he received from Lars back in ‘97. 

With a delicate hand, James picked up the bracelet. 

Small marks tarnished the gold in a few places. The clasp no longer hooked. But the diamonds shined on, as bright and as brilliant as they did five years ago. 

As bright, and as brilliant, as Lars’s smile, five years ago. 

James’s vision blurred.

He allowed the memory to hit him. The images and the words. The spite and hurt and anger in Lars’s voice and on his face. The jittery way he moved as he paced inside James’s home, the bracelet jingling along with Lars’s other jewelry. How he lead Lars on. How he lied. How he used Lars and how Lars let him, every single time. This was supposed to be something meaningful. Something more. Something that lead to, something that meant they were, that they were hopefully…

He couldn’t follow Lars at that point, because he started shouting in Danish – but James was pissed. He didn’t understand. Why was _Lars_ angry? This is what Lars wanted. He wanted to be ‘married’ to him. He wanted this, so James gave it to him that night in ’97. And this is how he repaid James? 

_I don’t care what you thought this actually meant,_ James had said, _You accepted it. You’re mine._

Lars’s laugh still hurt today.

_Yours,_ Lars said. _Why would I ever be yours?_

_Because you need me. You need this._

Tears fell as James clenched the bracelet, bringing it to his wrinkled forehead. 

The painful memory of Lars ripping off the bracelet from his wrist, throwing it at James’s feet, ricocheted from his heart, down to his upset stomach, and up to his constricted throat. 

He mouthed the words, ‘I’m sorry, Lars.’ 

After a few moments composing himself, James stood up and headed for the door, the bracelet dangling beside him.

 

**2009**

The party raged on well into the night. Old friends, new friends, family and long time hardcore fans celebrated the history of Metallica, the memory of Cliff, the accomplishments and triumphs of a newy inducted Rock and Roll Hall of Fame band. James nearly lost his voice by the time 1AM rolled around, and his brain shouted at him to sleep. 

From across the room, though, James saw his target. He couldn’t sleep yet. Not until this was over, and done right. 

He crossed over to where Lars stood, chatting with mutual friends, an empty cocktail in hand. His shirt buttons undone even further, sweat rolling down his face and neck, soaking the shirt collar, his jacket and tie probably lost somewhere, the squeak of his laugh louder than the rest of the chatter in the room, his twinkling eyes and big smile… 

Lars looked good. Better than good. 

He looked happy. Relaxed. 

Absolutely beautiful. 

“Hey!” Lars grabbed his arm, pulling him into the circle. “Look, it’s the prank master himself, here in the flesh!”

The group chortled as one, and James joined in. The inkling old feelings of shame and anger based in hating the spotlight, or being the butt of any joke, bubbled inside, but he squashed it down. There was a more pressing issue at hand that required his utmost focus.

He followed along with the conversation, chuckling with everyone as Lars told old stories of the past. With every word, every movement, memories came to him. Images of a younger Lars, giving him those same happy smiles. The caring looks. The kind words, soft sighs, gentle touches. Lars with long hair. Lars with shorter, curly hair. Lars now. Physical appearance be damned, this Lars now was the Lars then. Wiser, yes. Not as much of a dick in general, somewhat. But when it came right down to it, when it came to the issue of himself and Lars… 

Lars turned his attention to him. Shining smile, shining look. Like a goddamn star. Like James was a goddamn star.

James smiled back. 

He didn’t stop smiling when Lars looked away. When Lars let go of his arm and busied himself with another person. 

Their relationship had changed, yes. His fault. He admitted it. He accepted it. But the days of blame were over, as far as he was concerned. They came too far, overcame too much, to let his mistakes dictate the rest of their lives.

And with the way Lars still looked at him, still talked about him, even now…

James followed Lars’s path with a keen eye. 

He knew. He just _knew_.

The moment he found Lars break away from the crowd, heading to the bar for another drink, James attacked – by getting in Lars’s way, standing right in front of him. 

“Hey there.”

“Woah!” Lars startled a little, but his grin stayed. “Hey! How you doing, big guy? Having fun?”

“You wanna talk somewhere?”

“Uh?” That grin waned. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I promise. Nothing’s wrong.” He reached for Lars’s hand and touched his shoulder instead. “I just need to tell you something in private.”

“Um. Okay…” Lars looked around. “Whereabouts?”

“The room next door’s empty. We can talk there." He gripped Lars’s shoulder firmly, guiding him away. “It’ll only take a second, I promise. I know you hate it when you’re not the center of attention.”

“Oh har dee har har.”

It wasn’t the most ideal situation, doing what he planned in an empty office room with fluorescent lights and the thumping bass of Black Sabbath rocking the walls and shaking the floor a little. But in a way, it fit. It matched them, their roots, who they were, what had happened, and what would come going forward.

James shut the door and pressed his forehead against it. His clammy hands shook in his pants pockets. 

Behind him, he felt Lars’s blank stare, and then heard said confusion in his voice. “So? What did you want to tell me?”

He swallowed against the lump in his throat. His face heated up. 

_It was so much easier then…_ James chuckled. _When I didn’t really care, or understand._

“James?”

He pressed away from the door. 

On his inhale, his right hand clutched the box inside his pocket. 

On his exhale, he turned around, faced Lars, looked him right in the eye and pulled the black box out. 

The same, damn suffocating silence. The same, damn look Lars gave him all those years ago. Every single time. It never failed. 

Despite the full body tremor and the wobbliness in his legs, James dropped to one knee and presented the box to him, opening it. 

Unlike all those years ago, James let Lars gasp. James let Lars shake his head no. James let Lars mumble out, “No, no way, no no no, it can’t, you can’t…” He let Lars step away from him, let Lars wipe at his face, let Lars stumble over his words and let Lars release a few tears and let Lars be afraid. Be angry. Be confused. Be everything he never allowed Lars to be. 

Finally, Lars asked, “Why?”

“Because I love you.” 

James pushed away any emotion he felt – fear, anger, sadness – as Lars said, “You don’t. You never—” Lars hiccuped. “You _never_ , not once… not _once_ , James, did you fucking…” He growled, turning away from him. 

“I know,” James said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry every damn day when I realized how much I hurt you and damaged what could’ve been for us.” He lowered the box to the ground and took out the refurbished bracelet. “But we still could. It’s not too late, you and me.” He unhooked it. “We can still have it.” He stared at the back of Lars’s head. “But no matter what you decide, know that I won’t hold this over you. I don’t own you. I never have, because I never allowed myself to be yours, or anyone’s. But if you’ll have me… if you’ll take the word of this idiot and forgive every stupid thing he’s done—” He chuckled, raising the bracelet higher. “Then I would be honored and privileged to finally belong to you. Because I do, Lars. I am yours. I will always need you, more than you will ever need me.”

“Stop.” Lars’s hands turned into tight, shaking fists. “Just _stop._ ”

James’s face fell as Lars whipped around, glaring right at him. He lowered his hand.

Lars towered high over him. The shadows on his face covered whatever look he had, his head silhouetted by the fluorescent light above. 

He froze as Lars reached for his hands—and wrapped his fingers over each one. Over the bracelet. 

Lars lowered to his knees, clasping James’s hands. He shined like the star James saw him as. Effervescent. Ever bright. Beautiful with his tears and his smile and his laugh. 

“We need _each other_ , you dumb fuck. When will you finally get that in your thick skull?”

James laughed back. “Who knows. You might have to teach me.”

“Sounds about right.” Lars leaned back, sliding his hands away. He looked down at the jewelry. “I can’t believe you kept it. All this time.”

He nodded and then looked down at Lars’s left wrist. With shaky fingers, James clasped the bracelet in place, back where it belonged. His fingers skipped over the diamonds as he said, “I almost went for a ring. But I figured that might be too obvious right now. That and well…” He trickled his fingertips down to Lars’s left ringfinger, rubbing the top of it in circles. “It can come later, after, you know—”

“Yeah.” He watched Lars’s fingers twine with his, palm kissing palm. The bracelet shined. “Later.” Lars tugged at James’s hand, pulling at it as he came to his feet. “Let’s go, _min skat._ ”

James stared at Lars the whole time as he was pulled back to standing, looming over him. 

The silence. The comfortable silence. 

Their silence. 

He closed his eyes and leaned in. 

Lars’s soft lips met his, and James’s world finally felt right. 

 

**2010**

It was everything Lars wanted. Everything he said back in ’85 that James scoffed over, but now found absolutely perfect. There were friends and immediately family, no drama, laughter and crazy stories and the craziest open bar James had ever seen. There was dancing, stories told, a DJ playing silly music, the stereo system breaking, everyone singing acapella to radio hits and children’s songs – just so much _fun_ and _happiness_ it seemed almost overwhelming and James couldn’t believe he almost threw this all away because of his own stupidity. 

But for however hard and long the road was, it was worth it. All for the way Lars looked at him, the way Lars smiled at him, the way Lars kissed him. The way Lars whispered, “I do,” and the way Lars said, “I love you.”

James held Lars tight in his arms, in comfortable clothes as Lars insisted. 

_We did it._

He tucked Lars under his chin and let out a huge laugh.


End file.
